This Destiny Shall Outlast All Else
by Itar94
Summary: COMPLETE [Reincarnation fic, Merthur.] "Time is the essence of their lives and their love is the essence of their destiny: 'Every end has a beginning. Yours is a promise of forever, of time and time again.'"


_**Author's note (2011)**__: This was a spur of the moment thing: I hadn't planned it, it just came to me. This in some ways AU. It doesn't contain any particular episode spoilers, but __definitely__ legend spoilers. You have no idea how difficult it was to decide on a title!  
>This is <em>_Merlin/Arthur__, i.e. slash. _Please turn away now if that disturbs you._ There might be quite a lot of historical errors in here, though I've been quite vague in the timeline so it might not be noticeable - but I hope it's clear enough for you to understand the different settings/environments. This _hasn't _been_ _beta-read_ _yet. If anyone is interested of doing so, please contact me through a PM._

_**2012-07-15**__: I've looked this over and fixed a few grammatical errors. I know this thing contains a lot of commas and quite long sentences, and so I've split some up for easier reading but this is also part of my writing style. Still not beta-read by a second party though._

_**Disclaimer: **__All errors in this belong to me; the Merlin series does not. If it did, I think anyone could guess what the canon pairing would be._

_**Warnings**__: slash, violence, mentions of death._

_**Summary**__: Time is the essence of their lives, the other side of the coin is the essence of their existence, and their love is the essence of their destiny. "Every end has a beginning. Yours is a promise of forever, of time and time again." Reincarnation fic. Merlin/Arthur._

()()()

**This Destiny Shall Outlast All Else**

()()()

The last time, it's been maybe forever; when the shadow lifts and he sees him, the world ceases to spin. Nothing could've prepared him for this, but yet, there's no fear in his heart, no hesitation.

"It's been so long."

_A hundred thousand lifetimes – the world has changed so much._

It's mean to be firm and strong but ends up in a whisper and suddenly, suddenly he _realizes, _remembering every little word and movement and moment and touch and kiss and everything, everything makes sense, everything in such dangerous clarity he lunges to grab those steady shoulders, fervently, and kisses him like a man dying.

"I've missed you," he gasps, almost terrified, flashes of light coming to life beneath his eyelids; of gold and red, of the blood-coated battlefield, the hiss of a laughter echoing in his ears, _I swore_ _I would take my revenge, __**Emrys**__ - _of a maddening cry of grief engulfing his soul – _Arthur! __**Arthur**__! Wake up!, _a booming voice piercing the warlock fallen in a heap of anguish,_ I warned you the boy would be your downfall! Why didn't you ever __**listen**__ to me? You __**fool**__! _– he sees the white walls of Camelot glistening in the sun, welcoming him and his warlock home on the back of a white dragon, cries of joy clinging to his chest, embracing his heart; of an idiot challenging him on a market square, picking up a mace with fumbling hands, warningly; _I could take you apart with one blow,_ and startlingly; _There's something about you, Merlin, I can't quite put my finger on it_, so many countless lifetimes ago, _I'm happy to be your servant until I die_ –

"I've missed you so badly," _Don't leave me again, you idiot_ – there are so many words, so many questions he wants to ask and answer and tales he want to tell, but doesn't know where to begin – "Where have you been?"

Merlin smiles, tears in his eyes, "I've been searching for you all of my life." _I could never stop looking for you._

Arthur finds his hand, fitting it neatly against his own palm, pulling him close, _This time I won't let you go._

"Lucky you found me then," he mumbles, his lips pressing briefly against a high cheekbone, a warm neck, just above the quickening pulse.

"Lucky you haven't got yourself killed in my absence, you prat," Merlin retorts, "You always get into such trouble," he adds, causing Arthur to laugh. It's wonderful to make such a sound for the warlock's ears, amazing when Merlin's smile cracks into a laugh as well, joining him in harmony and everything just feels _right_.

He leans in and kisses him again. Just to make sure.

"Perhaps this time is Ours," Merlin says, irises filling to the brim with golden light; suddenly they're standing by the Lake again, the place hasn't seemed to change over the thousands of years.

"Can you remember what took place here?" Arthur murmurs, looking at the familiar site; flowers and trees have grown in places they hadn't before, but the water remains the same as always, quietly calling for them; and Arthur remembers asking that one important question here if Merlin wanted to spend the rest of his life with him (_Yes - forever_. _You don't need to ask: I'd follow you to the end of the world and back.)_ and having stood here for the first time, the warlock speaking about Destiny and dragons and Albion and other things he had not fully understood back then.

Merlin nods. "Everything."

They wade out into the water. The forest, the ground and the water humming in greeting: _We've been waiting for you, _Merlin's magic responding and glowing, spreading over the earth, warming Arthur's spine. The hum vibrates from tree to tree across the land and the oceans and echoes back in a strong _Yes_, for theirs is a promise of forever of Time and Time again.

His hands close around the Sword with ease, it fits perfectly there; as it breaks through the surface, the water cleaving.

The world sings.

"Come, Merlin," Arthur says, calmly; he feels no fear, no waver in the King's steps; "The world is waiting for us."

()()()

The twenty-first time, it's in that same town but he doesn't know it yet, doesn't grow up and look around and know _this is the place, upon these foundations my first life was built,_ but his heart feels jumbled and his soul want to linger in this place, wants to touch it, and every time the wind rushes past his ears and rustles the leaves of the trees in the park (he loves running and doing exercises on the brilliantly green grass, and wrestling with his mates: it makes him think of flags waving in the wind, of raising a fist or possibly a sword feeling victorious and of the excited cheers of a crowd, _Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!_) and when the sound of the city momentarily fade, he's _reminded._

There's no peace, though, he's not whole and there's something missing, but he can't figure out what. Each day he wakes and looks out of his office window in hope, searching – searching for _something_, the glass plain and the city planes beyond endless and gray and empty, a void of something out of his reach: each day goes on like the one previous, but he can't bring himself to step out of the door, fearing the loneliness out there, like if he does he'll lose something _forever_.

And when he finally sees him, it's kind of wonderful and he stares at that goofy grin and stupid big ears dumbfounded for a while, before reality sinks in and he remembers in startling clarity, how true _happiness_ feel like.

"So, I've been assigned as your assistant - I supposed I should be _honoured_. But I guess you're still a prat, and I still will have to put up with your arrogant attitude and bad mornings and other infuriating demands."

There's an echo of _I thought I'd lost you._

Words fills his mind and body but cannot speak – he doesn't need to speak, they both understand anyway, smiling, embracing and he won't let go, won't ever let go, quietly promising to hold on eternally:

_So did I._

()()()

The fifteenth time, it's in the chaos of a bombed town, darkness closing on his chilled bones and his heart beats furiously against his ribcage and he reach out trying grasp _anything_ for support, fumbling, it's difficult to breathe: his torn side throbs sharply, pain travelling up his spine and down his legs, and he can't make sense of left or right.

Just a few paces ahead, there's light, fire. An upside down car and screams of dying men and the ringing of bullets, but he can't reach them – can't cry out and warn them – _get out of here, get away! _Overhead, there's a noise, getting louder and louder, a warning: but it's too late _too late too late _and he gasps, reaching for his rifle like a last action, glances upward through the dust, sighting the plane about to drop hell upon them. He can't run, can't escape, legs won't function, his body faltering and falling. Suddenly halting – something enclosing his soul, _pulling_.

A hand comes up to grab his arm, steadying, and though the hand is pale and thin and he's never seen it before, it's safe and incredibly familiar and a warm, comforting voice says, "I'm here now – I'll get us out of here, Arthur. You're safe." – and drags him away from the dreadful sight with golden glowing eyes, a promise, _I'll take you home, _one that shall stay forever. One step more, those ancient words he inexplicably recognize spills over the land, and the blurry landscape twists into tranquility, accompanied by thick heavy smoke – Arthur opens his eyes, looks at his companion, at the tattered soldier's gear, and smiles; _I knew you'd come._ And Merlin smiles back, that wonderful beautiful smile which means more than any words; _Always_.

()()()

The twelfth time, it's on a hillside, on a perfect lawn surrounded by a gorgeous garden and fountains.

The mansion is quiet in the mornings, sheep grazing the grass outside, and the young baron is expecting another entourage and not looking forward to the long, tedious meetings and the letters of complaint; his time feels vacant – he tries to ignore it, pacing and training with his sword and hunting and inspecting the new invention called gunpowder. He has money and power to bring anything he wants, but he doesn't wish for anything he has: and he stands to greet the entourage with a blank face, polite words right on his tongue, but any sound about to leave his throat dies at the sight of blue eyes and dark messy hair stepping out of the carriage followed by five men in red capes, all of them strangely familiar but none more than _him_.

Merlin bows to him like he would to a King.

()()()

The ninth time it's raining terribly, the forest soaked and draped in silence: the group has chased the stag for two days, and is determined to catch it. They shouldn't be here, they know: but they needed to get away, from all demands and the inner conflics and the recent stirrings from the continent that have crawled even up here, the witch-hunts, the stench of burned flesh: whenever a fire is lit, Arthur feels slightly terrified, but is unsure why.

They never counted on the bandits, lying in wait on the border of Chesire and they whip out their sword: a bolt hits Percival's side, and Arthur curses. Outnumbered, he and his companions stand no chance even if they're all formidable warriors; already Percival and Gwaine lies wounded and there's a sword dangerously close to his neck, and Arthur mentally pleads for someone, _anyone_ to come to their aid.

Every enemy weapon suddenly freezes like someone has grabbed time bare-handed, and thrown harmlessly at the nearest tree or to the ground; the bandits panics, turning to flee; the wounded men stare at their bodies wide-eyed as the pain goes away, their injuries healing seamlessly.

Their savior steps into the clearing, a clearly disgruntled look upon his face: "You stupid _dollophead,_" he admonishes, eyes turning back from gold to blue. "Always throwing yourself into danger. Where would you be without me?"

The Knights stare at him in wonder, and Arthur responds breathlessly, "Probably lost."

()()()

The sixth time, it's odd because Arthur could've sworn he's never seen the odd, big-eared peasant before, when they bump into each other, the boy calling him an ass, which is truly not acceptable, and Arthur berates him but their eyes meet and – he _knows_.

He stares at the stranger-not-really-a-stranger doubtfully. "Is it really you?"

And the answer is startling, the voice reminding him of _Stop being such an idiot, Merlin_ and _You're the worst manservant I've ever had _and _I've saved your life more times than you know. _"Who else would it be?"

()()()

The second time, it's strange and difficult to look at one another and accept who they are, living as Merlin and Merlin and Arthur and Arthur, their memories that of two lives, all jumbled together - and the only security they have against the world is themselves, standing there close together lost in the vast expanse unsure of where to go, because Albion is no more and nobody believes, nobody _understands_. They hear stories, stories of what's been and what hasn't, and are unsure of what's truth and what's myth, what's legend.

And Merlin hesitantly summons Merlin's magic and powers of a dragonlord and it's an aged, battle-scarred dragon who answers, landing on the bank of the Lake (_Avalon,_ Arthur thinks, the word striking a chord in his chest; _This is where I was laid to rest_). The water stirs, and beneath there's a glimpse of silver and gold, thought it might just be an illusion, and then a giant body rises upward to greet them.

"My lords," Kilgarrah says, his voice full of understanding and depth and wisdom and lots of other things that Arthur cannot name, "I have been expecting you," because he has for many years, while the still young confused souls yet didn't know, searching for themselves; and to reassure them the dragon says, "Your time has been, but it is not yet over, and you need not fear. Every end has a beginning. Yours is a promise of forever, of time and time again. There shall be a day you will conquer and bring peace to this land, a day when your Destiny shall reach its peak."

He spreads his wings and lifts from the ground before they get the chance to ask _Why, what do you mean?_ leaving them standing there, still uncertain, _What is the end we are to face?_

()()()

The first time is a blur of joy and pride, or fear and hatred, of shock and disbelief.

The first time is rage, is the swirl of emotion and swords dipped in blood; it's the curling of the earth, mountains rising and falling, lines being crossed, lush forests growing out of barren soil, and the angry shouts of _Traitor_! and _Sorcerer_! and a thousand gazes trapping them, so many hopes and expectations and fears creeping up on them – _You can't run away, there is no escape._

The first time is happiness, the words filled with awe as eyes turn golden and Merlin lets loose the power raging in his veins, the core of his very being, the first time Arthur sees his magic bare and stares, doubts, disbelieves, and then, finally, **accepts**; _We're in this together. _

The first time is betrayal and despair as destiny places the final pieces of the puzzle together for them to see, lying bare before their eyes and Arthur cries as friends turns to foes, family turns into enemy, as so many things he holds dear are ripped from him painfully, suddenly, sharply, leaving open bleeding wounds in his heart: but Merlin, Merlin is his constant, Merlin is faithful and stays and Merlin embraces him, promising him things and the first time unravels, revealing that Merlin fulfill each one of those amazing oaths, as they together form a land Arthur only before could have dreamed off; it's an understanding,_ I'll stay by you._

The first time is joy and pride, when Arthur finally _understands_ and feels ready, and as the dawn of a new age reaches the horizon, he exits his father's tomb - _the Once and Future King shall with Emrys unite Albion – _to greet his people, his home, with Merlin by his side.

The first time is grief, chilling screams of sorrow echoing over the plains, the stinging tears of_ I'm too late, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ and _Please don't leave me, please, please __**Arthur don't leave me **__–_ and Arthur cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot feel any regret; smiling, _You have nothing to be sorry for, _cannot regret that the last thing he sees is Merlin's beautiful face, the warlock cradling him close to his chest, the King's hand enclosed around Excalibur.

The field is covered with the unmoving bodies of hundreds and hundreds, the prophecy reaching the peak, Mordred standing there looking at his handiwork proudly, satisfied, a shadow slowly crawling over the land – Merlin clings to Arthur rocking back and forth, crying like a child and pleading, cursing this cruel fate, a fate leaving him alone - _Please don't take me from him! _

And the land quakes, breaking and tearing, the warlock's magic falling and rising and clashing with everything around it, tearing up the sky and the earth.

The first time is fear, Arthur leaning against Merlin for support, _I'm not ready for this;_ and Merlin says to him assured, certain, strongly, _You are, you are, _making anyone else's word small in comparison, and no one's hatred can touch them.

The first time they kiss and love, it's almost like a dream, one which Arthur never wants to wake from, and when evidence comes that it's not a dream, he might be the happiest man in the world; when he announces to Camelot who will sit beside him on the throne, no one is surprised and they cheer as it finally happens, for they have all been _waiting_.

The first time there's hatred shining in the witch's eyes as she stares at them, disbelieving; _You're supposed to be my ally, __**Emrys,**_ _not a __**traitor,**__ protecting the __**murderer**__ of our kind and his damned son! How could you betray your kind this way? How, how, how?_ - but it's too late for any explanations, too late to turn away, and it's too late to show her there's another path to take. He cries to her: _Revenge isn't a solution! _but she doesn't listen.

The first time, Merlin takes Arthur to a clearing which has a massive stone at its centre, the blade placed in it glinting in the sun; the pair are followed by curious people and faithful knights, but the sounds of them fade out and the warlock puts a hand on Arthur's back, explaining, "Only the rightful king of Albion can pull the sword out of the stone."

"Will you stay with me? What if I make a bad king?" Arthur asks, glancing at his warlock_, please don't say you'll go_ because there are so many things Merlin could do now, so many other things he'll maybe be better at, and the warlock smiles;_ I'd never leave you._

"Even if you're the worst prat ever, I know you're a great man, and you'll be an ever greater king. And I'm more proud of you than I can put into words. I have never doubted you and I never wil."

_Together, we shall create something magnificent, something that will never be forgotten._

And Arthur doesn't hesitate.


End file.
